


Something broken that can be fixed

by ToolMusicLover



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Anakin Skywalker, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Post-Rako Hardeen Arc (Star Wars: Clone Wars), Top Obi-Wan Kenobi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29197488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToolMusicLover/pseuds/ToolMusicLover
Summary: In the aftermath of the Rako Hardeen incident, Anakin and Obi-Wan attempt to rebuild their relationship. The only thing stopping them from reconciling is themselves.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 62
Kudos: 222





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this as a challenge to myself. To write about the Rako Hardeen incident and to keep it under 10k, and I succeeded! This arc has the potential to be written in so many intriguing ways and this is just my small contribution.
> 
> Fyi, Anakin and Obi-Wan were already in a relationship when the incident happened. I dunno why...that's just the way it happened when I started writing.
> 
> Happy reading!

The corridor is empty, the early morning quiet enough for concealment, and Anakin stands outside Obi-Wan’s unremarkable door.

His arms hang loose by his sides, worn in Jedi robes wrapped tightly around himself. There is something that feels remarkably like trepidation lingering in his stomach. It feels a little like apprehension, a lot like anticipation. He hasn’t been alone with Obi-Wan in weeks. It’s not the longest they’ve gone though, Anakin thinks bitterly, the war has seen to that.

Anakin rubs his thumb and forefinger across his lips, pinching the bottom in contemplation. He resists the urge to turn away, but he can feel the need to flee creeping up on him, nipping at the heels of his boots incessantly. It’s tempting. He would much rather be working on the Twilight or sparring with Ahsoka, but that would be hiding and he’s not doing that today. He’s not going to let Obi-Wan keep doing it either.

Anakin breaths deeply as he raises his hand to ring the doors buzzer, but something stops him. He looks at his mechno finger, straight and poised to press the buzzer, and he smiles, wryly and without humour. It’s unlikely that Obi-Wan will let him in, not whilst Anakin has been so adamant for the past few weeks that Obi-Wan keep away from him.

Never before had Anakin seen his old Master take anything quite so literally. But never one to disappoint, Obi-Wan had taken his plea with fierce determination and kept his presence to an absolute minimum. With the two of them only seeing each other for joint missions when there was plenty of others around to fill the gnawing ache between them.

Obi-Wan won’t want to see him, too frightened by what he’ll be confronted with. Anakin’s lips twist into a sneer. _Well now I want to talk,_ Anakin thinks. _And there’s no way Obi-Wan is getting out of it, no matter how much he wants to._

After all, Anakin tells himself as he bypasses Obi-Wan’s security system and breaks into his quarters, perhaps Obi-Wan should think up a better security code. It was a game between them, Obi-Wan would pick a new code every few weeks and challenge Anakin to figure out what it was. He'd always figured it out, too eager to get into Obi-Wan's quarters to be left outside waiting. This time, he tries to ignore the surge of adoration that arises as he figures it out. The date of the first time he had returned from Illum with his first ever kyber crystal.

Obi-Wan’s quarters have barely changed in all the time that Anakin has known him and he thinks this nearly every single time he enters the room. Plants are dotted around the space, a cold mug of tea can be found on the coffee table in the living room and the kitchen to the left is sparkly clean. Barely ever used thanks to Obi-Wan’s abysmal cooking. There are only a handful of additions to the space, and most of these have taken place in the last two years. A small figurine of _The Negotiator_ and two books are placed in a position of prominence in the room, they’re next to each other on the windowsill and the first thing one sees upon entering.

And both were gifted by Anakin. That small gesture means more to Anakin than anything he can recall in recent memory.

He has just long enough to embrace the tender warmth granted upon seeing the objects before Obi-Wan exits his bedroom and enters the living room, a scowl on his face.

“Hello, Master,” he says, hoping for friendly. Instead, it comes out dry and sarcastic, the smirk heavy in his tone. Anakin can’t find it within himself to care.

Obi-Wan’s hand is unsteady as he runs it through his thick hair. “What are you doing here?”

His former Master looks tired, pale and oddly cold. Aloof in a way Anakin isn’t used to. For once, he looks his age and not the youthful man that Anakin often still thinks him to be. Thankfully, his beard and hair have now fully grown back. Anakin doesn’t think he could stand the reminder if Obi-Wan had still been bare faced and short haired. Inexplicably, Anakin suddenly wants to kiss him. To kiss the laughter lines near his eyes and the ones on his forehead born from too much frowning, he wants to kiss his lips and once again remember their soft shape.

Of course, Obi-Wan would accept, and probably enthusiastically. But Anakin isn’t quite ready for that yet.

“I missed you,” Anakin deadpans. It feels good for only a second before hurt flickers across Obi-Wan’s face. For so long they have bantered with one another, bickered harmlessly and flirted shamelessly. They can’t seem to help but bait each other, except recently Anakin has started to use such means to be needlessly spiteful. It’s not worth it, he knows. Obi-Wan may have hurt him, but he didn’t do it with malicious intent.

His shoulders sag as he sighs heavily, “Do you fancy a tea?”

“You can’t just break into my quarters, Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice is quiet and trembles as he speaks, though Anakin can tell that he’s trying to keep it even. Anakin can see that he’s exhausted, his eyes heavy and his face pallid. He wonders how long it’s been since he last slept properly. It’s been a continuous problem since the war started, now though, Anakin knows that his absence from Obi-Wan’s side, and his bed, must have only added to the problem. It pains him so see, he wants to smooth out Obi-Wan’s frown and watch the creases fall free from his face so that it’s left clear of worries and only contentment remains.

“Would you have let me in?”

Obi-Wan says nothing. His silence tells Anakin everything he needs to know and so he chucks Obi-Wan a winning smirk.

“You don’t want to be here,” Obi-Wan murmurs, his eyes downturned and body stiff.

“If I didn’t want to be here then I wouldn’t be here,” he says, irritated. He tilts his head to the side, eyes roving Obi-Wan’s body, eagerly watching his expression. “Haven’t you missed me?”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders tense and his throat swallows thickly, the sound deafening in the silent room. Anakin knew Obi-Wan wouldn’t answer that, yet it still makes his heart pulse sharply within the trappings of his chest. How is it that after everything that’s happened Obi-Wan still can’t even say _that_ out loud? Will Anakin always have to rely on their bond to know what it is that Obi-Wan truly feels? He runs a hand through his curly hair and tugs at it roughly in frustration. He refuses to lower his shields and search for confirmation of something that should be easily disclosed.

Slowly, he walks to the sofa and places his hands on the back of the seat. “So, you’ve what? Committed yourself to some sort of...” he trails off, looking out at the Coruscant rain and away from Obi-Wan’s bleak face, “Some sort of penitence?” Anakin asks, voice laced with derision and distaste. His accent always gets heavier when he’s angry, the words sliding into a drawl that only serves to emphasize his knowledge of Huttese. The thick sound of it reminds him of his mother, of Watto, and it only makes him seethe more so. This time, it’s accompanied by acidic self-loathing and confusion, his current disdain for Obi-Wan and the distance Anakin had insisted on and Obi-Wan’s easy acceptance of it making his knuckles whiten as he grips the sofa tightly. He’s sick of it. Sick of Obi-Wan’s poise and willingness to do what others ask of him, even when he knows there could be fatal consequences.

“And what if I have?” Obi-Wan whispers. “You asked me to stay away. I’m giving you the space you wanted.”

Anakin snorts, his ire increasing threateningly. The request had been made when his fury was still too volatile, when his heart was still blackened and overcome with grief. Obi-Wan should have known that such a request was only spoken in a flurry of outrage and that in actuality by keeping his distance Obi-Wan had only wounded him more so. It pesters him constantly, this vulnerability and neediness that his relationship with Obi-Wan provokes, that it’s become a _need_ and not just a want. He wouldn’t mind, if only Obi-Wan gave some indication that it was reciprocated. That it isn’t Anakin alone who craves the other with a thirst that is all consuming.

He trails the fingers of his flesh hand across the soft fabric of the sofa and watches as Obi-Wan’s eyes track the movement studiously, avoiding Anakin’s gaze at all costs. He’ll ignore Obi-Wan’s question he decides, there are other things he wants to discuss. “I had to deal with a forlorn Ahsoka yesterday,” he says, tone pitched low.

Obi-Wan looks away and glares out the window, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I hope she’s okay,” Obi-Wan sighs quietly, rubbing at his beard distractedly. He’s barefoot, wearing only beige pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt. The sight is endearing, it always is whenever he gets to see Obi-Wan like this. For years before they got together Anakin had imagined what his composed, polished Master would look like unravelled. And now he’s seen it, many, many times. The sight never fails to make his stomach jitter in excitement. Obi-Wan’s usually refined hair messy from sleep, his bare feet sunk into the soft carpet and his freckle littered arms displayed enticingly. It’s the knowledge that only he gets to see Obi-Wan like this – only he is trusted with this version of Obi-Wan – that makes his breath hitch from want.

Except today, as he’s begrudgingly admiring Obi-Wan, he catches sight of multiple large bruises on his left arm, travelling from his bicep down towards his forearm. The mottled skin is purple and perhaps only a few days old. As Anakin looks at them he feels some of his anger bleed away. Usually, he’s never surprised by whatever new bruise or scar litters Obi-Wan’s skin. He’s usually there to watch the causes of most or spends his nights tracing them with gentle hands. Anakin knows all the scars, perhaps better than he knows his own. Knows the ones strewn across Obi-Wan’s shoulders and back, knows the small one just above his hip, and of course, knows the lightsaber marks across his thigh and arm. Anakin could track Obi-Wan’s past with those scars alone and his heart aches with acute longing, at the reminder that he hasn’t been able to trace these new bruises with all the reverence that Obi-Wan usually deserves. He desperately misses the feel of Obi-Wan’s body against his.

“She’s been better,” Anakin replies. “I think it’s taking her longer than she thought it would to accept that her Grandmaster lied to her.”

Obi-Wan squeezes his eyes shut, his face overcast by shame. Anakin thinks he can see the exact moment when Obi-Wan’s remorse becomes too much.

“ _Oh_ ,” Obi-Wan says roughly. His voice resigned and shoulders sagging under the weight of his decisions. Whatever fragment of pride he had been carrying seems to seep from himself and disperse into the Force around them. “Anakin,” he starts, before stopping. He exhales heavily and remains facing the window, his face dark against the murky light of the grey morning.

“I know I told you to stay away, but I didn’t think you actually would. Not for this long anyway. And I definitely didn’t tell you to stay away from Ahsoka,” Anakin scorns, his voice tight.

Obi-Wan makes a desperate noise, a choke, almost a sob.

“Anakin,” he says again, finally turning around to face him. “I just wanted to give you both some space,” he whispers lowly. “I wanted to come to you, so many times. But then I’d remember how you looked at me...” Obi-Wan licks his lips, his eyes glazing in remembrance, “I’ve never seen you look at me like that before, Anakin. You looked...” momentarily his face contorts in anguish and he brings a shaky hand up to rub across his forehead. “You looked like you _hated_ me.” Obi-Wan finally meets his eyes, the usual blue orbs dimmed by sadness.

Anakin quickly glances away, unable to bear Obi-Wan’s knowing gaze. Because it’s true, Anakin had hated him. He had hated Obi-Wan with loathing so potent that his hands had trembled with a paralyzing need to cause pain, to make Obi-Wan hurt as much as he’d hurt him. In those initial few days, when everyone had returned to Coruscant and the Chancellor was once again safe, Anakin had had to keep himself isolated. His fury had been staggering, his Force signature sticky and thick like engine oil, suffocating everything around him.

“I had to wait for you to come to me. Anakin...I couldn’t stand it if you looked at me like that again,” Obi-Wan murmurs imploringly.

The heartfelt admission only antagonizes him. “Me?!” he demands. “You were the one who lied to me. You should have come to me and tried to make things right, but you didn’t, because you don’t care,” he says scathingly. His body vibrates with renewed anger, his mechno hand digging into the sofa forcefully and nearly ripping the seams apart.

“That’s not true. I tried to apologize, but you asked me to stay away,” Obi-Wan says frantically. “You know that I adore you, Anakin.”

“Do you?!” he spits, sudden and furious. “I don’t deserve to be treated like that, to be lied to like that.”

His vision begins to grow hazy, the rush of anger making it difficult to see around the white hot rage within him.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan exclaims, desperate and distressed. “Of course you don’t, you know that I never meant to hurt – “

“So you’ve said,” he snarls, tears stinging his eyes.

Cautiously, Obi-Wan begins walking over to him. His steps hesitant and his arm outstretched, an olive branch offered in peace.

“Don’t,” he hisses, shoving Obi-Wan away from him. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair that – that – “ he breaks off, unable to finish and admit what they both know to be lingering between them. _It’s not fair that you picked a mission over me. That the person I trust more than anything lied to me._ He can’t say it because he agreed to it – to a certain extent. It was the only request Obi-Wan had made when they first got together – that Anakin understood that Obi-Wan would always pick his duty first. And Anakin had accepted that, had successfully lived by that agreement because he hadn’t expected anything less, being a Jedi was who Obi-Wan was and Anakin wouldn’t have wanted him any other way. _I just never thought he’d lie to me about something like this._ It makes him feel hollow, the knowledge that Obi-Wan had used his grief to further the needs of the Council. That he had been manipulated and his feelings so casually cast aside.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever truly forgive Obi-Wan for this. All he knows is that he wants to try.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan whispers, his head bowed in remorse. He tilts his lips into a small smile, but his eyes are shining, pained. “Why are you here, Anakin?”

Anakin looks at him, at the downward turn of his brows, the heavy guilt atop his shoulders that appears to weigh him down unbearably and finally, at the charred and small presence of his desolate Force signature, nearly unidentifiable in comparison to its usual blinding warmth.

Anakin’s chest aches at the sight.

“Because I need you,” Anakin says quietly, wryly, “because I can’t imagine you not being in my life.” He steps towards Obi-Wan, looks at his eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “Because I’m an idiot,” he scoffs softly, tightening a fist in Obi-Wan’s t-shirt and watching his jaw clench in disagreement. “I’ll always need you, even if you no longer need me.”

They’re standing almost toe to toe when Obi-Wan raises a shaky hand and begins carding it through his hair softly, saying quietly, “That’s not true, and never will be, dear one.” Anakin sighs into the familiar tender gesture, though he is surprised when soon afterwards Obi-Wan slowly wraps both arms around him. The embrace isn’t fierce or passionate, its loose and delicate, Obi-Wan’s tension warring with his exhaustion. A heavy head drops down onto his shoulder, Anakin thinks in resignation, defeat, maybe even acceptance, but when he feels Obi-Wan’s nose press against the hollow of his throat and inhale deeply, he thinks it might be something else.

“I’m so tired,” Obi-Wan sighs into his neck. Anakin swallows, sudden overwhelming emotion rising thick and palpable in his chest at the admission. It wasn’t often that Obi-Wan allowed others to see him vulnerable and Anakin can count on one hand the number of times even he has been privy to it. It makes him want to cocoon Obi-Wan in a blanket of protection and he has the abrupt urge to do just that. To comfort Obi-Wan and ensure that he’s taken care of.

“Come on then old man, let’s go sleep,” he murmurs, hoping to sound determined, though it comes across as beseeching more than anything else. Anakin threads a tentative hand through Obi-Wan’s and begins pulling him to the bedroom. Surprisingly, he’s met with no resistance and he lets out a quivering breath in relief.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s only been eight standard weeks since he and Obi-Wan last shared a bed, an insignificant amount of time really, but the depth of things left unsaid between them seems oppressive enough to smother them. Anakin tries to shake his ominous thoughts, still, when Obi-Wan lays down on his side and faces the wall he stands at the end of the bed, immobile. 

He has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. Why is he here trying to console Obi-Wan when it was him who had been hurt? Sweat starts to gather in his hairline as panic begins to creep up on him, his stomach roiling in on itself tightly. What is he doing here?

“Obi-Wan,” he croaks, a plea for help.

“I knew it was wrong,” Obi-Wan says abruptly. “I disagreed with the Council’s decision as soon as it had been made.”

His voice is thin and flat, Anakin has never heard it sound like that before. He blinks, stunned by it and the words spoken.

“I begged for them to let me tell you, but I was overruled. I wasn’t able to disregard their orders and tell you anyway,” Obi-Wan whispers, “even though I knew I should.” His head shakes, a barely noticeable movement. “I knew you were angry with me, but when I came to you after we’d returned to Coruscant you looked – “ Obi-Wan’s next inhale is shaky, his voice getting quieter as he grows more desperate. “I thought you were going to hurt me, and I would have let you. I would have done anything to relieve your pain, to make sure that you never looked at me like that again.” Obi-Wan laughs, the sound panic stricken and wet. “I could handle your anger because I knew that it was just a cover for your hurt. That I’d actually broken your heart by lying to you.” Obi-Wan rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, his cheeks wet with silent tears. “I’ve always sworn that I’d only ever protect you and that I’d never cause you pain – but I did, and I don’t know how to make it better, Anakin,” he chokes.

Anakin sits on the bed, his back to Obi-Wan and stares at the floor, his body stock still from shock. He can’t remember the last time he saw Obi-Wan cry, definitely not since Anakin was his Padawan, and even then, perhaps only in the aftermath of Qui-Gon’s death. As a result, he is stunned into silence, only the white static of his own grief to keep him company. For weeks now it’s been held at bay by his anger, but at long last he feels his eyes prickling with hot tears. His vision blurs as they begin to sting.

“Obi-Wan,” he murmurs, unable to say anything more. There are no words capable of holding the weight of his heart. He wants to leave, but he wants to stay. He wants to still be bitter and angry instead of cowering in sorrow. He wants to crawl into Obi-Wan’s arms and wipe his tears away, kiss his lips in desperation. But he can’t do it, his resentment won’t let him.

“I never thought I’d be as happy as when I’m with you,” Obi-Wan breaths, so quietly that Anakin nearly doesn't hear. At the timid declaration his heart stutters almost painfully. “I’ve never thought of myself as someone who needed close companionship, I was always happy with the Order taking on that role. But with you...Anakin – “ Obi-Wan stops, swallowing thickly. “I should have known. You’ve always been the most precious thing in my life and now I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t in it. But I’d understand if you decide to leave me.”

Anakin squeezes his eyes shut, his body starting to tremble and the doused flame of his broken heart beginning to reignite as he listens to Obi-Wan’s long sought after admissions. He has wanted to hear such things for so long now that the hope of them had been practically extinguished. Anakin should be pleased, overwhelmed with joy, except he only feels despair. It shouldn’t have taken Obi-Wan dying for him to hear such confessions.

“I’d understand because I did something awful and I can only hope that you’ll allow me to at least be in your life in some way.” Anakin hears a laboured intake of breath, a sniffle as Obi-Wan shuffles on the bed. “I missed you so much,” he chokes, and that may be the closest admission Anakin has ever received that reveals the true depth of Obi-Wan’s feelings for him. 

Hot tears leak from eyes and trail down his cheeks as he shuts his eyes. His flesh hand trembles as he brings it up to hold over his mouth, an attempt to hold his sob inside. He tries to call to Obi-Wan, but instead he only breathes a broken noise in despair. Anakin doesn’t want to hear this, can’t stand hearing all the things he longed for on those nights when he was alone. They’re a reminder of all the things he wants and all the things he had thought were lost forever. It was why he had demanded that Obi-Wan stay away, he had been too frightened that even a repentant Obi-Wan would still be unable to say all the things left unsaid between them – but now he has, and Anakin doesn’t know what to do. He had never thought he’d be given all that he yearned for.

He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, bites his lip harshly and exhales heavily through his nose. Behind him he hears Obi-Wan shift on the bed, moving so that he’s leaning back against the wall. Anakin can’t turn around; if he does he thinks he’ll fall apart. He has his mechno arm wrapped around his middle, an attempt to hold himself together, to stop himself from spilling out. It’s not working though, his head thumps painfully and the erratic thud of his heart is jarring in its distress. He can’t breathe properly, his pulse palpitating as he pants in short, sharp intervals. He wants to leave, but he doesn’t know where else he would go.

“Anakin? Are you – “

“I thought you were dead.”

The words are pitiful, broken down and choked out from his tightened throat, muffled behind his shaking fingers. He slumps forward, trying to gather air into his heaving lungs, but a sob still wrangles its way out of him. He gasps, gulping in air and releasing it in a small, distraught sound. Vulnerable. And now he finally feels himself become undone.

“Anakin? _Anakin –_ “ He feels the bed dip as Obi-Wan moves closer, he hunches out of reach when a hand hovers over his shoulder.

“N-no,” he stammers through ugly tears. He doesn’t know what he’s saying _no_ to though. _No, don't touch me. No, don’t console me. No to it all, you don’t deserve to._ He’s shuddering in great, big, awful sobs that only get louder as Obi-Wan presses closer. Tentatively, he starts with one hand on Anakin’s back and the other on his shoulder, then his legs fold down on either side of him, bracketing him in.

“ _Anakin_ ,” Obi-Wan says, softly and nearly inaudible underneath the noises he’s making. Awful shame encompasses Anakin then, shame over allowing himself to appear so weak, so fragile. It drags him down, heavy enough to make his body fold under the weight of it, but now that he’s started he can’t stop. The hand over his mouth is barely muffling the noise of his distress, and Obi-Wan gently pulls him to his chest. 

“Shh,” Obi-Wan sighs, his voice rough and wavering. A hand tries to smooth his hair back but his head is still bowed, the soft curls once again falling forwards. Obi-Wan wraps an arm around his waist, over his mechno arm and cards their fingers together, it makes his chest tighten even more so as tears and saliva continue to dampen his flesh hand.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan whispers, and it’s soft and sincere, and Anakin doesn’t know if it helps him in the least. He knows Obi-Wan is sorry, but that doesn’t stop his grief, the pain of his heart shorn in two, split open like a wound and left bloody and raw. Obi-Wan had left him, he had left him all alone. And it hadn’t even been necessary. His shoulders shake as he’s wracked by relentless sobs, his chest heaving and his stomach roiling, he feels like he might hurl, like his body is giving up.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs, his voice pitched high in worry and his hold on him tightening. Anakin shakes his head, a stilted movement accompanied by gasping keens. He doesn’t know why he’s crying anymore: for the grief that he had ignored for weeks, the betrayal committed by the man he had trusted more than anyone, or for both. The throbbing pain of his chest feels like too much and not enough to be both. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“No – “ he gasps.

“I am, I’m so sorry Anakin – “

“Stop,” he wheezes, because surely it’s too late for apologies?

“I can’t – “ Obi-Wan grabs his mechno hand and pulls it to his lips, the gesture heartbreakingly tender. “I’m so sorry that I hurt you, dear one,” he whispers hoarsely into the cold metal of his hand, kissing the tips of his fingers.

“I thought you were dead,” Anakin repeats, closing his eyes to the memory of that awful day. “How could you? How could you do that to me? You used my grief like it was nothing,” he accuses brokenly, chest heaving as he continues weeping bitter tears of agony into the void of his grief.

Obi-Wan inhales sharply, exhaling a ragged breath as his cheeks dampen more so. Anakin tries to pull his hand away, but Obi-Wan holds on tight, continuing to litter reverent kisses onto the hard steel. He presses his forehead against Anakin’s temple, his grip on his hand never faltering. “I never should have lied to you, I knew that you wouldn’t take it well, _I knew –_ you’ve always felt so strongly, I should have told you. I w _anted_ to tell you.” 

“But you didn't,” he breathes, confused, sad and so very, very tired of his sorrow and anger.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Obi-Wan whispers fiercely. “But I know that I made the wrong choice, I’m so sorry Anakin.” He rubs his forehead against Anakin’s, back and forth, his hand enclosed tightly around his own.

There is nothing else either of them can say so Anakin exhales shakily, his body quivering as he wills himself to relax into Obi-Wan’s arms, his head dropping back onto his shoulder and his eyes closing. Obi-Wan sighs quietly, almost a moan in relief as he does so, and presses their cheeks together adoringly. 

Exhaustion wracks his body, his head heavy and his cheeks tacky with salty tears. He clears his throat roughly, wanting to speak, but nothing comes out and he merely huddles himself further into Obi-Wan’s arms. With a soft, quiet exhale he finally calms, Obi-Wan’s coarse beard scratching against his cheek with a familiarity that soothes him more than anything else so far. Slowly, he rolls his head to look at Obi-Wan, where worried, affectionate, blue eyes meet his own. He nuzzles into Obi-Wan’s beard, inhaling the clean scent of Jedi Order issued soap and beneath that, sweat and the natural musk of Obi-Wan. He breathes in deeply, shuddering as he re-familiarizes himself with the scent of the man who he’d thought he’d lost forever.

As his lips slide lower his heart thumps wildly in anticipation, his palm sweating before he hears an equally nervous hitch of breath come from Obi-Wan. Hot puffs of air linger over his lips as he and Obi-Wan breathe each other in. “ _Anakin_ ,” Obi-Wan whispers, tone pleading and hopeful. He groans faintly in surrender when his and Obi-Wan’s lips finally touch, their mouths meeting in a warm press and their tongues gliding together in a slow, sensual slide. At long last he feels the wounds of his heart beginning to stitch themselves back together again, by no means whole, but the promise of the possibility to be so making him sigh in long sought after serenity. 

They kiss for a long time, thorough and unhurried, caressing and tasting each other, enjoying the peace of their reunion and the vibrant warmth of Force that surrounds them. Never have they kissed like this before, every press of tongue and nip of a lip conveying some unspoken emotion that Anakin knows he could never resist. 

Obi-Wan lowers his mechno hand and brings his own hand up to cup his cheek, the calloused thumb stroking across his skin with the utmost adoration. It makes him melt in pleasure, the gesture and the comforting presence of Obi-Wan all around him making him feel safe and cherished in a way that he seldom allowed himself to feel. Anakin hopes it isn’t a rarity, the attentive curl of Obi-Wan's Force signature around his own suggests that it won’t be.

When they part he lets Obi-Wan pull him onto the bed, his belt, tabards, obi, outer tunic and then shoes removed and carelessly chucked to the floor in an unusual display of untidiness. Then Obi-Wan is pulling him under the covers and against his chest.

Obi-Wan still looks tired, though he appears less worn when Anakin glances up at him. Talking seems to have lessened some of the tension in his body, or perhaps it was finally seeing him react with something other than anger, or maybe it was being able to care for him that has soothed something within Obi-Wan. A need to protect and comfort that every Master will always feel for their Padawan, no matter how long they’ve been equals. Anakin closes his eyes, fatigue making him sluggish and drowsy.

“I hope you know how much I regret my decision to not tell you. If I could go back and change it then I would,” Obi-Wan mumbles against his hair, stroking his back. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Anakin turns his face into Obi-Wan’s throat. Inhales that comforting scent once again and swallows thickly.

“I love you,” he murmurs, feels Obi-Wan’s breath catch against his lips. He’s never said it out loud, but it’s been known between them for a long time now. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I can’t help it. I love you,” he says, voice quiet and eyes heavy from bone deep exhaustion.

“Oh, _Anakin_.” Obi-Wan sniffs, tightens his arms around him. “I do want to hear it.”

Firm fingers stroke along his back and soft lips press kisses into his hair, Anakin sighs, and it only takes a handful of heartbeats before he slips into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating jump. I'm not gunna lie, this chapter is 95% smut, but emotional smut...can I call my own work that? I dunno, but I think it is. I hope you all enjoy the final chapter!

Anakin is half awake and half asleep, in the space between alert and rested as he dreams. Not of the future, but of the past.

_He’s nine and in the quarters allocated to him upon his initiation as a Padawan, he’s alone and crying. Missing his mother and Qui-Gon, until his Master arrives, worried and panic stricken as he looks at his red rimmed eyes. Obi-Wan wipes away the tears from his face with a kind, sympathetic smile._

_He’s fifteen and in his Master’s quarters, tools and a disassembled droid strewn around him. Obi-Wan walks in, surprise and concern etched on his face. He talks with Anakin for hours, asking questions about what he’s doing and keeping him distracted with his company. Not once mentioning where Anakin should be – with the other Padawan’s his age celebrating the passing of their exams, but isn’t because he wasn’t invited._

_He’s nineteen, inconsolable with grief and rage, lying in the Halls of Healing staring at his new arm. Furious at his own incompetence and with Obi-Wan for ignoring the importance of his dreams. His Master sits by his side, sleep deprived and troubled, his presence never wavering even as Anakin refuses to meet his contrite eyes._

_He’s twenty one, rushing to Obi-Wan’s quarters aboard The Negotiator, his body restless in anticipation. As soon as he steps inside all of his tension drains away. Obi-Wan’s gentle reassurance silently encouraged him to step forward and kiss him. Calm, he feels calm at long last, the press of Obi-Wan’s lips confirmation of all that he longs for. He sighs softly as Obi-Wan’s Force signature wraps around his own and encloses him in its familiar, golden warmth._

_And he’s twenty two, his heart feels like it's being dragged over shards of glass, each pull a bloody, raw wave of pain. Obi-Wan is dead. Dead. What is he going to do –_

_– he’s enraged, his movements fuelled by anger as he slashes relentlessly at the Temples training droid. Remembering the face of a man he didn’t know, begging him for forgiveness and knowing that he’ll cave eventually because he can’t imagine a life without Obi-Wan in it._

Anakin snaps awake with a jerk, his dreams dissolving as he blinks open his groggy eyes. It’s dark in the room but light enough that he can still see vague outlines of objects, the sheets beneath him are warm and familiar as he stirs against them. He quickly recognises the familiar feeling of Obi-Wan's body pressed along his back – a hand trails over his sides, his hips, his chest, and lips press against the nape of his neck. They kiss him, soft and wet and gentle, as strong fingers stroke his hair before pushing it aside and resting over his throat. His body jolts in arousal as they tighten, then release, his own fingers catching in the sheets, palms flat against the soft material. They clench when Obi-Wan’s hard cock rubs against him, teasing him with what he wants and what he has been without for far too long.

“ _Yes_ ,” he gasps, tilting his hips back in encouragement.

Cold air briefly greets him as Obi-Wan moves away to remove his own clothes. Anakin pulls off his under tunic, then lifts his hips and helps Obi-Wan slide him free of his trousers and small clothes. Obi-Wan rustles through his bedside draw, swiftly returning with slick fingers circling his hole. As the first thick finger pushes inside he blinks, dazed by how good it already feels. For weeks he has had to make do with his own fingers, but they’ve never filled him like Obi-Wan does. Never made him as desperate as he is now, shaking with a frantic need to have Obi-Wan inside him. 

There are still many things that they need to discuss, to sift through and learn from. But Anakin needs this now. He needs the familiarity of their bodies moving in tandem, speaking in a way that they often struggle to do so out loud. 

He moans softly when a second finger joins the first and rocks his hips slowly to meet Obi-Wan’s relentless thrusts. When a third finger pushes inside his dishevelled curls are tugged backwards and an eager mouth covers his, swallowing his breathy hitch of discomfort at the initial stretch. Though the press of Obi-Wan’s fingers is rhythmic and exquisite, they’re not nearly enough, not nearly thick or deep enough to fill him like he needs tonight.

“Now,” he pants into Obi-Wan’s mouth. In the darkness he can just make out Obi-Wan’s eyes, the usual blue eclipsed by black. They stare at one another, intense and intent, even as fingers continue to slide in and out of him. It may be one of the most intimate moments he and Obi-Wan have ever shared and he can't stop the needy whimper he releases as a result, “ _Please_ , now.” 

When Obi-Wan pulls back, his fingers smoothly removed from his loosened hole, Anakin hears the tell tale noise of him slicking up his cock. Anakin spreads his legs instinctively, his mouth falling open in pleasure and eyes blinking wide as the thick head of Obi-Wan’s cock breaches him.

“Obi-Wan,” he gasps, arching his back as Obi-Wan slowly slides in deeper. Anakin’s body easily opening up beneath him, the way it always does, and always will do. The initial burn of being filled has him panting hotly into the sheets below, but he doesn’t care, welcomes it even – he adores that first perfect stretch, the burn that he'll be able to feel for days to come, a welcomed reminder of Obi-Wan. 

“Fuck, _Obi-Wan,_ ” he moans, canting his hips further back.

Obi-Wan hums against his neck, sighing a shaky breath as he utters, “Force, you feel...” He pulls out excruciatingly slowly, then pushes back inside and Anakin _keens_. “You feel _so good._ ”

Fire prickles along his skin at the words – he has missed that tone, low and breathless, the crisp Coruscanti accent heavy with need. Heavy with need for _him._ Because it is _only_ him that gets to see Obi-Wan like this, that gets to feel the heat of his body and listen to him as he slowly unravels. The fire tampers into fading embers, his breath shortening and his pulse racing as Obi-Wan sets a smouldering rhythm. It’s somehow both addictive and terrifying to want someone this urgently, to want him and Obi-Wan intertwined like this always, but Anakin wouldn’t have it any other way.

The wet head of Obi-Wan’s cock catches on his rim, stretching it repeatedly as he pushes inside him again and again. Obi-Wan seems to press all of his weight into pushing his cock in deeper, spreading him open and throbbing inside him in a way that Anakin’s fingers could never achieve. It’s so gentle, Anakin thinks, so gentle yet so undeniably hard at the same time. Obi-Wan’s hips snap into him hard and deep, but never fast, his strokes long and powerful enough that he’s jostled with every forceful surge. 

Anakin can feel sweat gathering behind his knees, dampening his thick hair and sliding down the curvature of his back, rivulets falling down to where he and Obi-Wan are joined. The loud sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in the quiet room, it’s a sound he’s missed. It’s filthy and all the more erotic because of it. His erection twitches as the noise reverberates in the small space, where it presses a hot, hard line against his stomach and the bed beneath him. Anakin grinds down against it, fervent and exhilarated. 

“ _Anakin,_ ” Obi-Wan groans lowly, rocking into him deeper with each slow thrust. He has one hand on the bed near Anakin’s face, his knees pressed against his thighs and the other hand running shaking lines over Anakin's throat as he tries to gather air into his heaving lungs. Anakin feels hot, the air between them near stifling, the sheets clinging to him, nearly smothered by the heat and the warmth of Obi-Wan’s body fucking down into him repeatedly. It’s _perfect._ Overwhelming and thrilling in a way nothing else could ever be.

Gentle fingers wrap just slightly around his throat and Anakin bucks his hips and gasps for more. It’s greeted with a desperate moan and a subsequent whisper, Obi-Wan's tone beseeching and raw, vulnerable, “I'll never leave you again." Anakin's hands clench in the sheets as he lets out a quiet sob, the pain of before slowly siphoning away so that the vivid red rage of his grief is gradually replaced by the intricate, white hue of long desired peace. With his voice wet and shaky with unshed tears, Obi-Wan declares, "I love you, Anakin.”

_What?_

_What, what, what -_

Anakin’s body nearly collapses in on itself in disbelief, startled into utter stillness. His mind and body fight amongst themselves in an internal battle of wills. His heart thumps a messy staccato in hope and his head pounds vicious, accusatory beats, telling him it’s a lie. So sure that he has misheard, that his grief stricken mind is taunting him with everything he has ever wanted. 

“ _Obi-Wan,_ ” he strains, desperate and needy and not caring in the least. He’s shaking he realises, body trembling with adrenaline lit fear that this is going to be heartlessly ripped away from him. That surely Obi-Wan doesn't mean it. Why would Obi-Wan risk all that he has ever known for him? Obi-Wan is the perfect Jedi. Something he will never be. The pain of it all is so staggering that it leaves him winded. He's spiralling, losing control of himself as his Force signature contorts in confusion, adrift and so, so petrified - 

A tender hand grabs his chin, bringing his face to meet Obi-Wan’s earnest and steadfast eyes. Irregular puffs of breath drift across his face, Obi-Wan just as scared as him, but there is an understanding gleam in his impassioned gaze as he quietly repeats, “I love you, dear one.” Unbidden tears fall down Anakin’s face as he litters the Force in gleaming sparks of joy. “ _Obi-Wan, please,_ ” he keens, high and breathy, not knowing what he needs, just that he needs _something._ It feels like he’s falling apart, his presence flying out of the stratosphere, his mouth parched and heart near fit to burst.

Everything feels like too much, and yet not nearly enough.

Luckily, Obi-Wan knows exactly what he needs. He pulls Anakin’s face to his and drags him into a blinding kiss. Intense and slow, strong and perfect. _Grounding._

A declaration and a vow. 

With trembling legs he pushes up slightly onto his knees, his torso still flush against the bed. Obi-Wan’s bare chest, slick with sweat and his coarse chest hair, rubs against Anakin’s skin. He cries out hoarsely, his forehead creasing and his mouth dropping open when the new angle brings Obi-Wan’s cock against his prostate. His body jerks at the sensation, almost overstimulated. He chokes on a gasp when Obi-Wan starts thrusting again, rubbing against that spot with a constant, blinding pressure that makes his eyes roll to the back of his head. 

“I missed you so much,” Obi-Wan rasps, hand pushing Anakin’s sweaty hair from his face and thumb trailing across his parted lips longingly.

“ _Obi-Wan –"_ Anakin keens, eyes bright and body radiant. Happiness seeping from him in unending tides of elation. His knees slide against the sheets, hips frantically meeting Obi-Wan's passionate thrusts. 

“So fucking much.” 

His hands scramble in the sheets as Obi-Wan plunges impossibly deeper, growling softly in his ear when Anakin whines, euphoric and flushed with desire. Sharp teeth drag along his neck, Obi-Wan’s fingers eager against Anakin’s skin as his hips pump relentlessly. The muscles of Obi-Wan’s thighs, stomach and back working as he fucks into him, and Anakin cants his hips and curves his back repeatedly, desperate to feel Obi-Wan thick and deep inside him. 

For all of Obi-Wan's renowned poise and control, his actions are anything but in that moment. There is a reverence and urgentness to Obi-Wan that he has never encountered before. Hands clutch at him desperately, needing reassurance that he is really there. Worshipful kisses are traced along his neck, each warm press making Anakin’s breath stutter in silent joy. Anakin embraces all of it wholeheartedly, his heart brimming with contentment as he's engulfed by all of Obi-Wan. 

Distantly, he’s aware of the noises he’s making. Incomprehensible whimpers, interspersed with rough gasps as he slurs wetly into the soft fabric beneath him. He can't bring himself to care, each fierce surge of Obi-Wan’s cock rubbing against his inner walls prompts the tender, gradual, weaving together again of all those mangled parts of him that had been severed. It only makes him all the more wanton, his body bowing to the repetitive slick slide of Obi-Wan inside him.

A jolt of pleasure shoots through him at how _right_ it all feels; him and Obi-Wan joined as one, himself swollen and hanging heavy between his thighs, Obi-Wan's stiff cock stretching him wide, the grunts and moans of pleasure they both release with every slap of skin on skin, Obi-Wan's Force signature caressing and holding his own, wrapping him in gentle, firm layers of devotion. Every brush of skin against skin feels amplified, his body thrumming with love and the familiar ache for release, coiling at the base of his spine with every perfect glide. 

“Obi-Wan, I need – “ he gasps, his cock dripping onto the sheets.

“ _Yes_ , I want you to come,” Obi-Wan groans. He runs his lips across Anakin’s neck and breathes out a rough, desperate whisper, “I’ve missed seeing you come on my cock.”

Anakin’s chest heaves, his heavy eyes opening wide as his body pulls itself taught.

“ _Please_ ,” he begs. He doesn’t have to wait long. Obi-Wan‘s fingers grasp his slippery cock, the tight cavern of Obi-Wan’s fist making his breath hitch in rapture. As Obi-Wan's hand pulls on him frantically, Anakin hears a quiet plea of, "Kiss me." He groans in need, turning his head and letting out a low moan as his and Obi-Wan’s tongues slide together in a hot, sensuous press.

It only takes a handful more sharp pulls before Anakin cries out into Obi-Wan’s mouth, shuddering as his cock jerks and he spills over Obi-Wan’s fingers in a warm, wet rush. His body shakes, the sheets beneath his fingers twisting within his grip as he gasps open mouthed and overwhelmed as his orgasm wracks through him. 

“ _Anakin_ – “ Obi-Wan breathes, deference coating every syllable.

His body is still quivering from pleasure, stunned from the hot roll of ecstasy coursing through him, when he feels Obi-Wan slide in one last time, rolling his hips before his cock thickens and pulses, spilling wet and deep inside him. Obi-Wan bites down softly onto his neck, venting a low, guttural groan, his hand rising to interlace with one of his own as his hips continue to spasm intermittently. Anakin exhales ragged breaths, inhaling the provocative scent of sex and his palate tasting the heady concoction of sweat and spend in the sultry air. Anakin commits it all to memory, he wants to relive and remember the sensation of Obi-Wan inside him endlessly.

Obi-Wan tips them to their sides, his arms tight around Anakin’s chest, even as his body still trembles. Anakin clenches around the softening cock inside him, a silent plea that Obi-Wan stay, but not just that part of him, he doesn’t want to be without Obi-Wan ever again. 

“Don't ever lie to me like that again,” he murmurs, frightened, but determined. 

“Never.”

“I won't be able to forgive you if you do, Obi-Wan.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan sighs unevenly, his head burrowing into Anakin’s neck. “I never want to lose you again, Anakin. I couldn't bear it."

In that moment he is a juxtaposition of emotions, content and confused, safe and warm but still hesitant that everything will be swept out from under him. The sheets are sticky and soiled against his overheated skin, Obi-Wan is holding him, tightly, and as though he is the most precious thing, running his nose back and forth across his neck and inhaling deeply. This is all he’s wanted, and maybe, he thinks, they will be okay. He takes a grounding breath, wiping at the moisture gathered on his cheeks. 

“You meant it,” Anakin announces, voice steady and sure, yet nonetheless still stunned. Giddy with a joy he has never experienced before. _Obi-Wan loves me._

“Yes,” Obi-Wan assures him softly, the truth of it echoing throughout the Force. A vibrant gold of delicate waves lap against Anakin's signature, _Obi-Wan's love_ , his mind supplies. He's felt hints of it before, in those moments when Obi-Wan's shields had failed, but now he gets to feel it in all of its breathtaking warmth.

When Obi-Wan pulls back he leans forward and crowds over him, the tips of his fingers stroking across his face gently and his eyes layered with a film of grateful tears. 

“I’ll never hurt you again,” Obi-Wan whispers, and Anakin feels his heart sigh, happy and relieved.

“I promise.”

And as he looks into Obi-Wan’s sincere, blue eyes, Anakin believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to come chat about Obikin or Star Wars in general then come say hi on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/obi-wkenobi)


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